All I Feel

I feel like writing, 
as if speaking these words 
isn’t worthy any longer.
You’re not listening, 
and you can’t hear me, 
so I write to be seen.

I feel like flying, 
as if walking these roads
isn’t fated any longer.
You’re not looking, 
and you can’t find me, 
so I run to feel free. 

I feel like singing, 
as if talking with ease 
isn’t understood any longer.
You’re not feeling, 
and you can’t understand me, 
so I sing to be felt.

I feel like dancing, 
as if standing still 
isn’t going to do any longer.
You’re not moving, 
and you can’t carry me, 
so I dance to feel alive.

I feel like dying, 
as if the world I live in 
can’t give me what I need.
You’re not here, 
and you can’t hear, 
and you can’t see what I see.

So I feel like crying.

And these walls are closing in, 
crunching through fragile bones,
parted lips and nimble fingers, 
trying to speak but you’re not listening.

And so I feel like writing 
so you can hear me 
expand my roots into words,
and plant seeds of desire onto your eyes 
so that they may crawl to your mind.  

I feel invisible. 

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